


if i could have done it all again, i would have loved you better

by mondkind



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Season 5 Spoilers, adora is a repressed lesbian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondkind/pseuds/mondkind
Summary: She takes her turn to look, now, eyes lazily on Catra’s figure. She blinks and she sees a sword, a portal, a void behind her. She sees Catra jumping and she doesn’t know where. She thinks about the morning, about waking up and seeing Catra; soft hands on her hands, a party, for her, that Catra had planned and—“Stay with me, okay?”She tries.or,a study on adora's joruney.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 659





	if i could have done it all again, i would have loved you better

**Author's Note:**

> me and my friends were talking about "when adora knew" and now i have this. hope you enjoy!

> “If I could have done it all again, I would have loved you better. But I could not have loved you more.”
> 
> _—_ **sue zhao** , “i loved you in all the ways that i could”
> 
> “I burned so long and so quiet, you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do.”
> 
> — **Annelyse Gelman,** from “The Pillowcase” in _Everyone I Love is a Stranger to Someone_

When Adora first arrived in Bright Moon, she learned that there was a lot that she hadn’t known.

For example, she learned what the Horde was really doing. She learned that the place she called home for eighteen years was a place of horror and destruction. Everything they learned, everything they were taught— it was all a lie. The Horde didn’t care about Etheria— Hordak only cared about gaining more ground to himself while exploring every village he laid his intentions on. 

But that wasn’t really hard for her to understand— she saw it. She stood there, sword on her hands as she ripped through everything she knew until then. It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do— and it was never going to be easy, but now she had a destiny. Now, there was a bigger meaning for her life. She could be the one thing she was good at— she could take care of others, she could be useful.

She never knew that she could be a legendary warrior, but she learned She-Ra. 

And she learned to let go.

  
  
  


Adora liked lists. In fact, she liked everything that could optimize her time and training, and lists were a great way to do that. She had one stuck to her locker with basic cadet stuff— Catra used to joke that it was almost like Shadow Weaver’s pep talks, but she figured out it helped. Cause they were true, in the end. The best soldier is the one that’s most helpful. There was no use in being weak and no use in trying to take anything to her only. In the end, there was a greater good— she wasn’t doing it for her, no. Lord Hordak had bigger plans for her, for everyone. Her job was to trust him, and only that.

She did, for a while.

* * *

“I don’t remember the first time, but my mom says it was an accident.”

Adora looks up. They are in Glimmer’s room, sprawled by the window with teacups around them. Today, they did some work in the villages near Bright Moon, along with the Princess Alliance. Rumors of Horde’s plans whispered among villagers, but no sign of them yet— at least not for a while after Mystacor. The princesses were always a good companion, and even now, that they were just gone, she was still left with her heart warm at Bow and Glimmer’s friendship stories.

“How do you teleport by _accident?_ ”, she asks and Bow laughs.

“I think no one really knew what I would end up like, being the daughter of an immortal being and a sorcerer. I would learn magic, eventually, but I don’t think people expected me to _teleport_ —”

“Tell her about the crib.”

Glimmer eyes Bow. “I’m _getting_ there.”

“You teleported out of your _crib?_ ” 

“Ugh, can you just let me finish?”

Bow laughed, and Adora did too. “Go on, do your thing.”

“ _So,_ one day my dad was with me, playing, and then I teleported. Right out of the crib. _But_ he was there to catch me, so it was okay. 

“And you were little?”

“Very.”

There’s a softness on Glimmer’s expression when she talks about her dad that is followed up by Bow’s himself. She wonders if Bow knew him, if he has a family of his own. Sometimes, when Angella comes up to her, she wonders if she ever had a mother. 

But it doesn’t last.

“When Bow and I met I was better at it.” She snaps her fingers, sparkles around them. “So he would start shooting arrows and I would get it for him.”

“You tried your best.” He shrugs, but there’s a smile on his lips.

Adora knows what’s burning behind her eyelids, but she ignores it.

“Enough about me.” Glimmer sets the cup aside, eyes on the cake Bow has brought. “Tell me, what did the mighty She Ra used to do in the Fright Zone before she was a warrior?”

“I’ve always been a warrior”, she says, softly.

Bow looks at her like he sees something she doesn’t. “Yeah, but, for fun? You guys didn’t have _fun_ in the Fright Zone?”

Sometimes, late at night, she would go over to the balcony and sit there for a moment. The cold wind in her hair paired with the vision she had from that position reminded her too much of before. Sometimes, she didn’t fight it. She would let herself close her eyes and pretend this was the Fright Zone, that she came up here to find Catra and they were just sitting and talking like there was nothing else in life that mattered— _yeah_ . Some nights, she could almost hear Catra’s voice. _I didn’t ask you to come looking for me_ , Catra said once, for she had replied _but of course I would come after you._ It was a matter of time, seconds before she was reminded of their position. This wasn’t the Fright Zone, and Catra wasn’t here. They were enemies, now— and that is the place that Catra occupied, now.

But—but here, looking at Glimmer and Bow, her heart ached through all of her chest. There’s no stopping the memory of Catra, seven years old, running through the corridors with her, exploring every corner like it was their castle. Catra, some years later, creating a password that would open only for them. Her favorite number burning on Adora’s throat as it became their code for every secret they shared. Learning to get to Catra’s favorite place, only so she could be a part of Catra’s world for a second. It burns as Catra’s touch seems to linger on her still, and she almost, _almost_ lets—

Adora blinks, dry mouth.

“Just normal stuff.” She shrugs. “The Horde doesn’t encourage behavior that could distract you from your training, so it was, you know, squadron stuff.” 

She smiles, mouth in a thin line. She trusts Bow and Glimmer wholeheartedly— or she’s trying to—, but she decides to keep this for herself. In fact, there _isn’t_ anything to keep. Catra is her enemy. They used to be friends, and now they’re not. That’s a truth, that’s a fact carved in stone now. 

Still, the thought lingers for a little longer than it should— it hurts a little more than before.

She pretends she doesn’t see the shared look between her friends.

* * *

Adora keeps a diary. 

Well, at least, she’s trying to.

She’s seen Glimmer with a small notebook sprawled on her bed more times than she can count, but she never really thought about it. It was not until she had exhausted herself on training, bloody knuckles and shaking knees, that Bow rested a hand on her shoulder and suggested a more healthy way of expressing her feelings. Perfuma gave her a thumbs up from the other side of the room and she finally gave in.

But she doesn’t _know_ what she’s supposed to do. Does she talk to it like it’s a living thing? Does she fill it like a form? Where are the questions, anyways? It doesn’t even have _instructions._

“You have to let your feelings flow”, Perfuma had said, “so they can flourish out of your body.”

A flower appeared on Adora’s hair. Now, it was next to her pen on the bed.

Adora doesn’t know _feelings._ She’s trying to learn that, but it feels too much to unpack. So, she settles for what she knows: lists. And, just for the record, she decides to list everything she learned since she got to Bright Moon — maybe Perfuma would be pleased with that.

  1. _aunt = someone who’s sisters to your mother or father_



She writes it, satisfied with herself. She could even decorate it but— she was never the one for it. There’s a pause, for a moment, in which she searches in her memory for new words and concepts that were too big for the Horde. She writes down sweet, ice cream, party and birthday, every word another memory of her, Glimmer and Bow discovering new things— or, better, Adora being introduced to this new world.

There’s something she’s forgetting, something she is supposed to remember, though. She shifts position, looks intensely at the notebook as if it would help her in any way. What _was_ it, it happened _just_ these days and—

“Why do you call her darling?”, she had asked and regretted it right after. Adora wasn’t the best at keeping her mouth shut or noticing social cues. Maybe it was a sensitive topic. But Spinnerella had laughed it off and she was at ease again.

“Because she’s my wife.”

 _Wife_ , she looks down at the paper, as someone you’re married to. Married as in you’re going to spend your life forever with them— or at least you want. Adora breathes, shaky, as her chest aches up until her throat. There’s a buzz on her ears and she’s lightheaded, hands tumbling on her bed.

She closes the notebook and tosses the pen away.

* * *

  
  


There’s a place in her heart for things that go unsaid, and she doesn’t want to let go. 

_Admit it. You love being her favorite._

There’s a place in her heart that she kept hidden with care, trying to be soft even though her hands were rough, even though she knew it could never, ever be a reality for her. 

_I really am going to miss you._

There’s a version of her that insisted— a version of her that never let go of Catra’s hand, that accepted and reached and wasn’t afraid. There’s a version of her that admits it. But— but she’s never been strong enough for it, after all. She wasn’t strong enough to see past Shadow Weaver’s hurtful acts, she wasn’t strong enough to really _see_ Catra. And— and she never wanted to be a hero. But the things she wants seems to be spilled all over her, now, as Catra walks away and everything goes black.

She let go, finally. 

That is— until she goes to sleep and it all happens again.

* * *

Shadow Weaver taught her how to tie her boots, taught her about the appropriate way to make a strategy and the basics of being a good soldier. She taught her about weapons, armors, and all the evils the princesses had made on Etheria. Deep into her core, into being what she was made to be— a soldier— there were Shadow Weaver’s words.

But she didn’t teach it all. There were somethings that were only whispered in the green corridors of the Fright Zone, between meals and after training sessions. Sometimes, she stood quiet, paralyzed, afraid it would end up at the feet of Shadow Weaver. So she chose not to pay attention, not to let it distract her, because, after all, that didn’t _fit_ her.

But— but there was Catra. There had _always_ been Catra, pushing her and bringing her back, hand reaching for her. There was the Fright Zone that Shadow Weaver taught her, and there was a whole word when Catra appeared in the room. When they were kids, she could almost see the burning floor as they ran through pipes careful not to fall. There was no more fire now— even though they still did it, sometimes— but, when Adora closed her eyes, sometimes she could see beyond the Horde. 

Sometimes, it seemed like there was something eating her from the inside, burning her lungs and stomach until there was nothing left of her. And she was afraid, yeah, but— she felt so _light_ , still. She decided it was good— she chose to name this a good feeling. And she might not have a word for it, but she likes it. Sometimes, when Catra blushed and dropped her ears, she could almost believe Catra could feel it too.

And of course she couldn’t tell anyone— what would be Shadow Weaver’s reaction on knowing that Catra and Adora had just _invented_ something like this? Something that seemed so out of place to the Fright Zone, to the Horde itself. No, this was her secret. She was willing to keep it in her core, to guard her heart so no one could ever attempt to destroy this thing she built with so much care. It was hers, and hers only.

So, she kept it. 

  
  
  
  


They’re not supposed to be here. Adora’s ears are buzzing with anxiety— she’s not supposed to be breaking any rules. But she’s just so _angry_ , at _everything_ , and the day sucked and Catra is here, side by side, and she can start to feel at ease. This is _their_ place, unlock with _their_ password, and a wave of anger crashes through Adora when she sees other cadets there. 

Well, she can’t exactly _see_ what they’re doing, but they’re so close Adora feels like exploding. You’re not supposed to be this close with someone— you can’t go away with it if Shadow Weaver sees you. Adora herself sometimes didn’t— but it was always Catra who got the pep talk. They’re not _supposed_ to be here, and they’re not supposed to be doing whatever they’re doing, and it feels so intimate that Adora’s cheeks are burning and she shivers when Catra’s fingers linger on hers.

And here’s the thing— she doesn’t remember much more after that. She knows that they left and that she could hear Shadow Weaver screaming with the other cadets when she found them. _There is no place here for you pathetic attempt in love._ She knows Catra held her hand the entire time and didn’t look at her in the eye the next day. She knows that a week after, when they laid on the floor after practice and Catra smiled at her, she felt like she could be stuck forever in her gaze. 

She knows that, after this, her throat ached with wanting to pronounce a word she didn’t even know yet— but she already knew that she couldn’t. Adora was so _stupid_ , she concludes. Thinking that she could get away with it— that, if no one knew, she could get away with it, that it could exist in the mind, at least, but—

Shadow Weaver’s words burned on the back of her eyelids. She could see the scars on the other cadets as they came back, as Catra flinched behind her. At the end of the day, she was a soldier, and Catra was too. Whatever it is that lived inside her, this twisted feeling, it didn’t belong here. It _shouldn’t_ belong if she cared for Catra and for a greater will. It was the right thing to do, right? It should be the right thing to do.

Adora held onto that memory as much as it hurt— until, eventually, she couldn’t remember it anymore.

* * *

When Light Hope tells her about Mara, it’s like something opens in her chest. At first, a chance of knowing more about her, about where she came from. But— but of course that couldn’t be it. Mara’s destiny was to be a hero, and she failed. And, now, it was on Adora’s hands to fix everything. But it’s easier this way, she imagines. She has a goal. She has to fix it, she _will_ fix it. That’s what she was made for, long before she even found the sword. That was her destiny, after all.

Her room, now, is filled with notes and strategies’ boards. Books brought from Bow’s dad’s rest all over the floor, some open in pages too old for her too read. It still feels weird, somehow, that she knows this much. That she could be filled with the knowledge that only served to fulfill the destiny of a warrior— she wishes it could be different. She wishes she could close her eyes and access it— First Ones’ memories, their world, their language. She wishes she knew words from the tip of her tongue, that they could be used for something other than opening old doors.

But— but that’s her destiny. That’s what she was born to do, what she was made for. So she does it— and shoves everything aside in the midst of it.

“What do we know?”, Angella asks, one day in the war room.

“Entrapta is with the Horde, so they’re getting all this new tech. We need to step up.” Glimmer says. “She’s not coming back and we can’t hope for her to do it.”

“I’ve detected some energy readings. Whatever Hordak is up to, it’s big.” 

“We should plan an attack while we still can.” Mermista proposes. “It will slow them down.”

Adora’s head is buzzing. She looks at Perfuma. “What’s the report from the woods?” 

“Catra’s been spotted just outside Elberon, but there was no attack.”

“Yet.” 

She can feel her shoulders tense. Of course Catra wouldn’t attack right away, not if they’re planning something— she’s smarter than that. She had always been. 

“Catra must be onto something. We need to prepare ourselves.” Her voice is steady. “If we attack, we can be ambushed.”

“But we’re losing ground,” Frosta argues.

Angella’s voice cut through both of them. “Adora’s right. We should wait and prepare ourselves.”

There’s a hand on her shoulder and a soft look on Glimmer’s face, but she doesn’t feel any less tired. 

“I will keep on trying to decipher the message on my trackerpad.” She turns to Bow. “It could give us more to work on.”

“That’s good.” Angella continues. “I think we’re good here.” 

“Are we _sure_ that Catra won’t plan _another_ surprise attack while we’re doing research?” Mermista sounds tired, too, and Adora can almost see the circles underneath her eyes. Salinas had always been a valuable kingdom, and there could be no risk of losing it now. 

There’s the ruffling of paper and Adora looks at Netossa, maps spread around her, inked with the Horde symbol in red. 

“They’re not in a rush to conquer more villages or they would’ve already done so. But they have been excavating here and there, so there is something we’re missing.” She exhales. “Besides, Adora knows Catra. If she says Catra is planning something, she definitely is.”

Netossa is one of the best strategists for the Rebellion. She keeps tabs on the princesses, on strange activities in the woods, and has mapped the Horde every move. She’s logical, tactical, and what she means is that Adora and Catra had the same training, in the same place, at the same time. That Adora used to be a Horde soldier and that is something she needs to take into consideration at all times. That Adora should gather about everything she knows about Catra and thin of a way to use it against her; it’s the logical thing to do, the smartest thing in fact. Because, wherever Catra is right now, she will be doing the same with Adora.

But— but she stiffens, goes blank, and doesn’t respond. If anyone notices the change in her behavior, it’s not pointed out. She tries, but it doesn’t add up on her mind, that, when she closes her eyes and imagines Catra, she is now the girl that let Adora’s sword fall in the void of an ancient ruin— she is now the girl on the other side of the battlefield, an enemy. That’s what she will always be. 

  
  


* * *

“Do you remember?”

Adora looks up. Catra is perched on a pipe on the rooftop, tail curled on her legs. She’s not looking at Adora— instead, she faces the Fright Zone. From up here, they can see the whole extension of the territory, although there isn’t much to see. Everything is twisted, green and probably locked for them, anyway.

“What do you mean if I remember?”

Catra exhales. “Before. Do you remember anything from before they brought you here?”

“I don’t think so. I was just a baby.” She stops. “Do you?”

Catra’s ears flatten against her head. Adora scoots closer, instantly. 

“I have flashes”, she says, softly, “sometimes. I can’t see their faces. I can’t even count them. But I don’t think it’s a memory I’ve formed here.”

“I wish I could remember something.” 

“Yeah.” Catra’s tail brush around Adora’s arm. “I wish I could get outta here and look for myself.” 

Adora thinks back to Shadow Weaver’s reports— that she could be Force Captain one day. She’s only fifteen and too young to be aiming at that but, still, there’s something filling her chest. If they get it, one day, they’re going to be able to get out of here. If they get, one day, they’re seeing the world.

She smiles softly at Catra, shoulders touching. “We will.” 

* * *

Adora had always had trouble sleeping. She never really thought about it— after all, a good night of sleep was essential, but there was so much _more_ to be done that her mind just couldn’t shut off. It would be like that in the Horde, but _before_ she had—

She gets up. Now, she walks around the castle in the dim light of nighttime, panels being illuminated by the moonlight. She walks past King Micah and all the ones that came before him; she doesn’t bat an eye. Instead, she goes right to the library. If she can’t sleep, _fine._ She will make herself useful for something, at least. 

The Horde didn’t have many books. Everything they needed was in files carefully organized by Shadow Weaver and the other commandants. They learned what they had to, what the Horde wanted them too. The only stories that ran whispered through the corridors were myths about princesses, about Hordak’s wrath, and the terrors of Beast Island. Now, Adora supposes that this was the point all along— make them afraid of ever leaving the comfort of the fight. 

It failed.

There’s a book about the legend of She Ra on her lap, but it’s not what she’s used to. She wanted a _file,_ something objective. Instead, it’s a _kids’_ book, telling dumb stories that she doesn’t need to know. She needs facts, she needs real information on how to be better, stronger. If she’s going to take down the Horde, she needs to be the best She Ra that Etheria has encountered. And she can’t _do_ that if all that’s left on Bright Moon’s books are love stories.

She almost wants to rip it. Her hands tremble and she has to exhale more times than she can count so she doesn’t break anything. She can’t. Not now, not with everything that’s at stake here.

So, she breathes out, one more time, and decides to give it a try. Maybe there’s _something_ here, even if it’s just Netossa’s notes. It’s a big book, but it’s a long night. She takes a pen, makes notes here and there. In this book, She Ra doesn’t have friends like Glimmer and Bow. She does it all alone, with her own strength. Here, she saves the day, one more time, and Adora is _considering_ Light Hope’s word about training when she gets what’s happening. 

It’s a long book, and Adora it’s in the middle of it when she picks up on the love undertone between the lines. She Ra has a _lover_. Of course, this doesn’t have any technical information, of course it’s not helpful, of course she’s wasting her time here. It’s not an adventure, a tale— it’s a fictional love story. Adora’s hand tremble and she almost wonders why, but she stops in the midst of it. She’s angry, but— somehow, in some way, she doesn’t stop reading.

But she doesn’t stop to think about that, too. No, instead, she reads it all, wide eyes at every paragraph, and the realization that this was happening, while she was at the Horde learning tales about beasts, hits her. Adora doesn’t stop until she finishes it, until it’s over with a kiss. She doesn’t stop until She Ra’s lover is dead on her arms and there are no more pages left. She shouldn’t have read it, no— now, there’s a hole in her chest and she wants to put a sword through it. 

The book falls on the floor with a thud. She doesn’t return to her room.

* * *

Some nights, she would sleep. She would have sleepovers with Bow and Glimmer and they would laugh until they had already tired themselves out. On some occasions, the other princesses would be there too and she would get warm at the feeling of belonging. Yeah, she didn’t have a family. But she had found one of her own. And, on some days, the thought alone was enough for her to have a good night of sleep.

Other nights, she would pass out from exhaustion and wake up six hours later ready to train— do it for the whole day, and then repeat the process tomorrow. It was easy, routine, and Bow had to step up so she wouldn’t hurt herself in the process. But it _was_ easier to do this when she stopped to take in the situation— she _couldn’t_ do that, couldn’t think and pronounce words forbidden to her tongue, but she could train and become better, every day. They loved her, even when she didn’t love herself very much.

And, some nights, her mind would betray her. She would drift to sleep softly and meet Catra on the other side. Sometimes, Catra would have a blade pointed at her and the ground would color with her blood. She would repeat the same words she used at the Crystal Castle and would walk away— Adora would wake up all of sudden, heart spilled in front of her and blink seven times to confirm that she was here, alive, sane, and Catra wasn’t here. It would rip through her body to see Catra like that, to confirm that she was an enemy now.

But, some nights, her mind would just torture her until she pleaded for it to stop— or for it to never end. 

She opens her eyes to Catra, laying on the side of the bed, hand stretched out for her. Here, Catra sleeps without her mask on, bangs on her face, as she snores lightly. Adora would always wonder how she could sleep so softly and fight so hard in the morning. It was like, here nothing could cause her any harm. The Horde was never a perfect place for sleeping, but Adora found that she would do anything for Catra to never have trouble sleeping again. 

She reaches her hand to Catra’s jawline, fingers lingering carefully. And— it jumps, and they’re standing on the balcony, Catra perched up on the edge of it as usual. Her eyes are playful when she looks at Adora, almost glowing in the dark.

“Hey, Adora.” 

This is it, she thinks. This is the moment her stomach wrenches and her heart drops and she’s lightheaded, can’t think of anything that’s not Catra, walking up to her, hands on her shoulders as she leans her forehead to Adora’s. This is the moment she squeezes her eyes and hopes that it’s over soon, that it would never end, that she wakes up and has no memory of it, because she just _can’t_ —

In the morning, she remembers it until she doesn’t, and it’s enough.

  
  
  


Adora knows she dreams about Catra, but she refuses to remember. And, after all, she always had a powerful will when it came to suppressing things. It’s easy, now. 

But, now— she doesn’t remember anything. She wakes up and— there’s something she’s supposed to fix? There’s something she’s supposed to _but_ , and what was it—

“Adora”, Catra looks at her, hands on her wrist and she didn’t even know she was fighting it, but now she doesn’t have to anymore. “Since when do _you_ sleep in?”

She looks back at Catra, takes in the moment. They’re at her bedroom— her new Force Captain bedroom— Catra at the end of her bed, hands offered so she can get up. Her heart races, but she can’t quite put a finger on it. So, she follows Catra through the halls, soldiers looking proudly and admired at her, and she feels powerful. With Catra at her side, at least. 

But— but this isn’t a dream, right? This is _real_. But reality isn’t supposed to be jumping. Reality doesn’t leave words on places they shouldn’t be, and it doesn’t bend over itself. Something’s wrong, there’s something she has to fix and—

She’s at the rooftop, now. Catra is here, side by side, worried eyes at her. There’s a look that Catra uses with her, and her only and— normally, she wouldn’t let herself pay too much attention to it, but, now, she lets herself drink it, for a moment. Maybe everything is perfect. 

“Soon, the two of us will be ruling Etheria together just like we always planned.” She can hear the smile on Catra’s voice.

“Is that what you really want? To rule the world?”

Catra looks at her, now, brows furrowed. “I mean, yeah, obviously. Isn’t that what you want too?”

She takes her turn to look, now, eyes lazily on Catra’s figure. She blinks and she sees a sword, a portal, a void behind her. She sees Catra jumping and she doesn’t know where. She thinks about the morning, about waking up and seeing Catra; soft hands on her hands, a party, for her, that Catra had planned and—

“Stay with me, okay?”

She tries. 

  
  
  
  


Adora can’t point the exact moment. Maybe it was the sudden despair in not being able to bring Catra with her— or else, seeing that she would have to go on alone. _I won’t leave you behind again._ The months spent apart, Catra at the edge of her sword while Etheria crumbled in war around them— they could’ve never have prepared Adora to watch Catra fall and dissolve into the portal. They could’ve never prepared Adora to lose Catra, again. And— and for a moment Adora almost wants to be selfish and jump for Catra. She almost _wants_ and she wants so much she thinks that it could consume her along with the portal. 

_You made your choice. Now live with it._

When she looks at Catra, she knows there’s no going back. 

* * *

After the portal, Adora would sometimes sneak out, sword in hands, and sit at the edge of the Moonstone patio. Her knees would touch the cold marble and it was cold, but it didn’t matter. She closed her eyes to see Mara and Angella, one last time. Angella had sacrificed herself for Adora. She had given up the chance to continue living so that Adora could still be a warrior and take care of others.

Adora takes her sword, blade against her forehead. 

Her words are cold against her lips. “I’m Adora, She Ra of Etheria, and I’m gonna save the world.”

_I’m Mara. She Ra of Etheria. And I am gone._

She repeats it until it seems true. She repeats it until the words come out mechanical, until she is reduced to everything she will ever be able to give.

_I’m Adora, She Ra of Etheria, and I’m gonna save the world._

* * *

Three weeks in Bright Moon and she still wakes up earlier than she can. She knows she should be training even though she is a magical warrior, and her body seems to know that too. Last night, she and Bow slept at Glimmer’s room, and she had a really _fun_ night, but she wakes up startled and decides to go for a run. 

When she returns to the room, a few minutes later, she stops at the door half-opened. 

She’s learned a lot in Bright Moon for just three weeks, but she has yet to be able to comprehend and take in the look Glimmer gives at Bow when he is the first thing she sees in the morning. No— she has to take everything in her to not link it with whatever it is she’s known before. 

Adora turns her back, at last, and doesn’t enter the room.

* * *

“Adora?”

The books held by Adora slip through her arms. Spinnerella is fast to grab them, brows furrowed at the title and Adora wants to _scream_. 

“Sorry, sorry”, Spinnerella says, offering her the books. “Didn’t mean to scare.”

“No, yeah, sorry, it’s okay”, she rumbles. “I was just— _distracted_.” It’s one way to put it, yeah.

Spinnerella offers her a soft smile. Her eyes seem heavy like she had just woken up, and, of course, because it’s _late_ , Adora herself shouldn’t be awake— she shouldn’t be doing a _lot_ of things now.

“I didn’t know you were such an avid reader.” 

“It’s research, actually.”

“Oh.” Spinnerella’s eyes widen slightly at the books. “On… love?” 

“It’s not—” Adora’s shoulders fall and she supposes that she can’t fight it _now,_ necessarily, and she shuts her mouth. Here, the library doors closed against her back and the moon casting shadows through the windows, she feels smaller than she’s ever felt in a long time. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Spinnerella says, “but if you want to, I’ll be happy to hear it.” 

Adora frowns. Looking down, there’s a copy of Etheria’s Greatest, a compilation of love stories from heroes that goes beyond time and space— way before any mention of She Ra. She has been reading —researching— these books for a few nights on the library now, but she thought of bringing them to her room, really studying them, until—

“I didn’t know much about love when I came here.” she starts. “I’m trying to learn more about that. I guess.”

“The Horde wasn’t really a friendly place, wasn’t it?” 

She shrugs. “You could say that.” 

There’s a pause and, what’s even weirder— some kind of understanding. She grabs the book harder, knuckles going white as she tries to talk, and fails every time. But Spinnerella doesn’t leave or rushes her. Instead, she leans on the wall and waits. 

Adora is glad.

“There’s so _much_ I didn’t know existed. So much that I didn’t know it could exist. I grew up reading forms and listening to tales of Beast Island. I didn’t know there could be anything else.” 

“I can imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

Adora looks up. “What do you mean?”

“You had to leave a lot behind. And Bright Moon is _pretty_ different from the Horde. It might’ve been hard adapting.”

Adora thinks to the first nights where she couldn’t sleep— bed too fluffy and castle too quiet for her to relax. She wasn’t _used_ to it. She wasn’t used to not being on the edge, to not competing, to not training like her life depended on that. She wasn’t used to kindness, reaching, and talking about things. She was not used to being a _princess_ , to wearing dresses and tiaras and glowing. She thought, for a long time, that this wasn’t what she was cut out for. 

Now, she let herself exhale.

“Yeah. It was really hard.”

Spinnerella smiles at her. “I’m really glad you’re being able to get to know yourself more. It can be a really good process, you know, to unravel things.” 

There’s something here, she thinks. Something she knows. Something Spinnerella might know— but none of them say it.

Spinnerella touches the edge of the book.

“They can have not taught you that, but love doesn’t exist as long as you’re out of the Fright Zone. Love can grow in a lot of places. Even in places as bad as the Horde.” 

Her heart drums in her ears. She doesn’t ask about what Spinnerella means— not when she thinks she could know, when she almost wants it. Adora has never been one to leave without explanations— she likes facts, clear pieces of information, mapped in front of her so she can see the bigger screen. And— she never imagined that this would be the question she was going to make.

She never imagined that she already knew the answer, at last.

* * *

Adora has a routine. 

On normal days, she wakes up as the sky starts to get pink and goes training. Sometimes, she stops to eat something before, but that’s only when Glimmer—somehow— wakes up with her. She spends the morning training and training in the woods around the castle until she eventually meets Light Hope. She doesn’t see daylight for a long time, then. When she gets out, the library is the first place she hits, books from Bow’s dads being consumed like her life depended on that— and it does.

Her training sessions around Bright Moon aren’t supposed to be a secret, but that’s what they become anyway. Swift Wind doesn’t open his mouth and Adora is glad for that, at least. She doesn’t need people telling her that she needs to slow down— that’s the last thing she needs to do right now. She needs to become stronger, she needs to be _more._

When she looks at herself in the mirror, she doesn’t recognize herself.

First time she saw herself as She Ra, she thought she could get used to it, eventually. She Ra was like a better version of her— taller, stronger, prettier. And still, it felt twisted and uncomfortable at times, like she was stepping into someone else’s clothes. She wonders if Mara ever felt this way— if She Ra was ever a girl, just a girl, just like her. She wonders if her shoulders are just too weak to hold the weight of it all, if she’s just not cut for this. 

Adora stares at herself as She Ra, now. The tiara hangs perfectly at the top of her head, golden hair falling around it. It almost glows, and she almost hates it. But— maybe it’s wrong for her to feel like this, after all. People seem so happy to receive her, sometimes. She thinks about her first visit to Plumeria, goes back to how happy Perfuma and the other were to finally meet the glorious She Ra— but she was just Adora. Her mind drifts to every other village they’ve encountered so far.

It’s fine. People don’t want Adora, people want She Ra.

Somedays, she wishes she would want it too.

* * *

Adora made a choice when she picked up the sword. It was her destiny, everything in her life that ended up leading to that moment, that quick moment in the Whispering Woods that she touched a sword and her life had never been the same again. She couldn’t escape it, that she knows.

Still, when she saw Catra disappear behind the ashes of Thaymor, she made a choice. 

Catra did hers, she thinks, when she opened that portal. 

And it’s almost like a joke, like a cosmic stupid joke made only to spite her, only to be cruel and leave her nauseous at the end of the way. _Stupid_ that the universe would give her Catra, would let them be together for a whole childhood only to strip them away and put Catra on the other side of her sword. Stupid, so _fucking_ revolting that she only realized that the light feeling at the bottom of her stomach was called love once she left, once Catra hated her and was her enemy for life. 

The same Catra that used to sleep at the foot of her bed opened a portal so Adora wouldn’t win— jumped into a void so she wouldn’t go with Adora. And— and Adora _knows_ the layers and layers above everything that happened between them, but everything still leaves a bitter feeling on her tongue, because she knows she couldn’t have done things differently. She knows that it would always end this way, that she could never feel for Catra what she wants to feel. She wishes things could be different but—

Adora stops mid-thought. She made a choice, she reminds herself. And so did Catra.

Now, she’s living with it. 

  
  
  


When Adora comes back to Bright Moon after Elberon, she says that she’s tired and goes to sleep alone in her bedroom— that, now, it’s almost looking like a library itself. She lets herself fall onto her bed, tense shoulders, and nothing that could ever relieve it, but she doesn’t _think_. She tries, at last, to list the facts in her head. 

One: people had stories about her and it was only fair that she would live up to them. Two: she got overconfident and it was a trap— it couldn’t happen again. And three: fighting Catra, today, had been like having her heart carved out of her chest with her sword, shown like it was a prize for everyone to see.

But she doesn’t think about it twice. Instead, she passes out from exhaustion. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Battle of Bright Moon had taken a lot out of everybody, but Adora didn’t really know how tired she was until she collapsed on Glimmer’s bed. Maybe the legendary She Ra wasn’t _all_ that, after all, but she was going to think about it later. So she slept, and slept, and, when she woke up, Glimmer was _still_ at her side, bandaged, a bowl of soup on her hands while Bow slept on one of the cushions.

She remembers feeling confused, flashes of Mystacor behind her eyelids, but Glimmer offered a warm smile while she got up and Bow was beginning to wake up, and just shrugged when Adora asked her if she wasn’t in pain. 

When Bow sat next to her, arms over her shoulders, and Glimmer came to the hug, she felt like it was the start of _belonging._

“I was so _worried”,_ Glimmer had said. “I love you guys _so_ much.”

It was so— maybe Adora didn’t have the word for it yet. She leaned into it, thinking about Bow’s words when she thought she was done for good, when she thought that she had failed and it was all over. She did it as She Ra, but it was Adora that was here, right now, being held like she was precious, at last. 

There were tears in her eyes that did not fell, but that was okay. Maybe she could be just Adora, in the end. 

* * *

The morning after she breaks the sword, Adora doesn’t get up until noon. She wants to be there earlier, wants to make strategies and plans and _something._ She needs to know where Glimmer is, she needs to know how to get to Prime, but her body betrays her and she’s stuck to bed. She wonders how it came to this— stopping her destiny and losing Glimmer. She wonders what she’s supposed to do now. Everything other things that could ever have a bit of space on her mind it’s not important, not anymore. She can’t _let_ herself think of anything else, and, so, she does.

That is, until she hears Catra’s voice on Horde Prime’s ship.

* * *

There was a plan for getting Catra back— a messy one, maybe, scribbled quickly while Entrapta worked on the spacesuits, while they got closer every day to the center of Prime’s empire. There was strategizing and Adora should feel confident, but she guesses that’s just not a feeling reserved for her anymore. She feels lightheaded through the whole plan— it doesn’t feel real to face Horde Prime, it doesn’t feel real that she’s failing, it doesn’t feel real that Catra stands at the other side of the platform stripped of everything that ever made her Catra.

She can’t pinpoint exactly when something unleashes on her; Catra burns on her eyelids as her eyes flick on the glowing green of Horde Prime. There’s something bigger driving her— she doesn’t think, she _can’t_ think rationally when Catra is here, and still, so far away, and Horde Prime is also here and Catra is falling and—

Adora can’t pinpoint when, but it’s Catra here. She doesn’t know many things, now—but she knows she’s willing to let go this time. 

  
  
  


On one of the tales Spinnerella lends her once, the warrior casts out an entire army because her lover was hurt, with a flick of the sword. She saves the world and gets the girl at the end of the day, a big gesture of love written in the last pages of the book. Adora figures she knew how to play the hero—but she would never get the part of the lover. She doesn’t place a finger at love being a heroic act against the world, a promise, and a confrontation. When she puts the book down, she doesn’t think about it.

* * *

There wasn’t a word heavy enough for the way Adora felt when Catra hugged her back. She would never be able to say out loud that it felt like a breath of fresh air, like coming back home — even if they’re in the middle of space right now and she doesn’t have a definition for home yet. She held Catra until her arms failed, until her legs were too weak to stand up and until Catra had finally fallen asleep.

Putting Catra on her bed after all that time seems wrong, somehow.

Bow and Glimmer find her in their kitchen.

“How are you holding up?” There’s a gentle hand on her shoulder as Glimmer stands next to her.

“I’m okay. Did any of you got hurt?”

“No.” Bow says. “We got out in time.” 

“Good.” She nods, mind blank. “That’s good.”

There’s silence, for a while, until Bow speaks again. “What happened to Catra back there?”

It’s like she’s been punched. It still feels like it’s not over yet— like, every time she closes her eyes, she’ll see Catra falling again. 

“He chipped her. She has a—” Her hand falls on her own neck. 

“You think he can still access her?” Adora looks up and she can feel the doubt on Glimmer’s voice— she knows she has doubt on hers, as well. Catra had saved Glimmer, and she is choosing to hold onto that— she _needs_ to hold on to something.

“Not necessarily. She snapped out of it on the ship.”

“Good.”

They don’t ask her about She Ra, and she could almost thank them for it. She doesn’t know how she did it— she just did. A deep old feeling, cutting through her chest to get free and, at the same time, something completely new. She knows the feeling of inventing something on the private parts of her heart. So, for now, she holds onto that. 

  
  


Adora is there for her when Catra can’t sleep, when she starts getting flashes and when she cuts her own hair, distancing herself from whatever Horde Prime has done to her. She keeps her hands to herself, at times, because she knows that she can’t, that there are bigger things that don’t allow her to do it, that Catra doesn’t want her to do it— after everything. 

But— but Catra asks her to stay, thumb sliding on her hand and there’s nothing she can do to fight it, actually. There’s something on the back of her mind telling her that she can’t, that she shouldn’t. She can’t say where Shadow Weaver ends and where Light Hope starts, but she shuts them off and stays. She Ra is back, after all, standing tall on the edge of Mara’s ship, and they’re going back to Etheria. So she lets herself stay, lets herself want, reach, and touch Catra’s face, like she did before, until they’re both asleep.

* * *

“Maybe She Ra is organic matter, then” Entrapta says, notes spread around her as Wrong Hordak stares at the blowtorch on the end of her hair.

“I feel like she’s definitely more than the sword”, Adora says, “but I just don’t know _how.”_

She exhales, looking front. They’re just some days away from Etheria, now, and she can feel the anxiety bubbling on her chest to come home again— maybe George and Lance would know something, and—

“You don’t have to know all the answers.” Catra’s eyes meet hers. She gets up from where she was perched upon the panel and gets closer to them. There had been some chatting about the broken sword, from which Catra had widen her eyes, at least. Adora didn’t go further on that and she didn’t ask for it. “You can go one thing at a time.”

Adora feels her cheeks blush, but she doesn’t break their gaze— not when this feels oddly intimate, somehow, as Catra offers her a small smile. They’re not touching, they’re not even _close_ but Adora feels stripped bare, at this moment.

“She’s right.” Glimmer shrugs. 

Catra raises her eyebrows. “You sound really surprised by that.”

“It’s still _weird_ to say it.” 

Adora can’t help but laugh as they go, until Glimmer is throwing something at Catra but they’re laughing, and it’s so _easy,_ so light, it almost seems like a dream— something direct out of the corners of her mind. 

There’s a spark on her chest, something different this time. She smiles at herself— maybe, just maybe, this could be a fraction of something much bigger; of a time she would really be at peace, and happy and—

Catra looks at her, cheeks red, then looks away. 

Maybe there could be a tale about her, too.

* * *

Adora learned Catra, a long time ago— or, they learned each other. They knew how to fight, how to run, how to play. Adora knew the whispers that ran through the barracks whenever it was only Adora and Catra left to train. She knew they were a good team, she knew they were good _together_ — it was like they just fit, like something in Catra would always draw Adora, like it was always supposed to be like this.

She eventually learned just Catra. It came naturally, as well— knowing that she slept best in Adora’s bunk, that she had the most difficult time showing it to others but still got out of her way to cheer up Adora when she knew it hadn’t been a good day. She learned the pattern of Catra’s freckles, the way her voice would break before she got close to Adora and just leaned in, no words needed. She learned how to get to the highest point on the Fright Zone, because Catra would be there.

If she stops to think about it now, as Catra bickers about Bow’s cooking skills along Wrong Hordark, she learned to love Catra even when they were on opposite sides, as twisted as that might sound. It wasn’t something she’s going to say it out _loud,_ but she learned how to fight Catra, as well— weaknesses, soft spots and forbidden topics. It hurt every day she did it, tracing notes on how to take down Catra, who got stronger every day. 

The Catra that stands before her, now, doesn’t intend to make her fall. She looks, when no one else is looking, for the same pattern she traced with her fingertips when they were fifteen. She blinks and sees the scars that have been on Catra’s body for years now, and sees the ones she was responsible for. It’s been three years, she thinks, and she wonders how many will be till she relearns every new detail Catra has, now.

“Hey, Adora.” Catra snaps her fingers and Adora looks up, blinking. “You good there?”

Bow laughs at something she doesn’t understand and Glimmer just shrugs, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I just spaced out for a moment.” 

Catra laughs. “Of course you did.”

There’s a look on Catra’s face that she doesn’t know— at least not anymore, not _yet_ — but she doesn’t question it. And, when Glimmer brings it up later that day, talking about heart eyes and dumb smiles, she pretends she doesn’t know anything about it. 

* * *

They shouldn’t be sleeping, she thinks. They should be fighting, preparing to the next move against Horde Prime, getting stronger— but what’s left of the Rebellion is in crumbles, after all. She thinks back about Erelandia, about how Horde Prime will know that she’s back, and, even that she’s feeling good and _ready_ for him, her muscles are still hurt and sore and she can only sigh. 

She ends up in Catra’s cot— Catra, who’s just as tired as she is, especially being surrounded by princesses who remind her of everything. She can almost see all the thoughts running behind Catra’s eyelids and she doesn’t know how to stop it— she doesn’t know how to step hers, for all that matters. So, she does what she knows. 

Her fingers linger on Catra’s wrist, careful, at first. Catra doesn’t say anything, although she doesn’t protest when Adora raises their hands, locked together. 

“I remember this one.” She slips a finger in one scar at the back of Catra’s hand. “Rogelio, wasn’t it?”

“I think it was Lonnie, actually.” Catra mumbles.

Adora traces Catra’s inner arms.

“Things blur, sometimes.”

There’s a soft squeeze on her other hand. “Yeah.” 

She exhales, hands dropping in the middle of them, but Catra doesn’t let go. She’s still facing Adora, brows furrowed, and Adora knows the tension in her shoulders without having to touch her.

“What are you thinking about?”

Catra snorts. “What are _you_ thinking about?”

“I asked first.”

Catra doesn’t answer her. Instead, she leads her own fingers to Adora’s arms, claws retracted as she traces scars here and there. Adora knows that some of them are Catra’s and she watches slowly as Catra does too.

“I’m sorry”, she mutters.

“I know”, she shifts, “you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Catra shrugs, adjusting her position and she’s almost closer to Adora. “I kinda do. It’s part of being a better friend, you know.”

“Wow”, she smiles, “I think you’re really committed. I might make you a manual or something, do some research.”

“I’m not a nerd like you, you know.”

“That’s offensive. It will be delivered with stickers, now. I even think Glimmer would like to have a contribution.”

Catra laughs a little, lip biting so she doesn’t wake the rest of the princesses. “It will be full of glitter.” 

“You know it will.” 

She doesn’t know the destination of their ramblings anymore, and she likes it that way. Catra keeps holding her hand, and they keep playing with each other and Adora doesn’t stop blushing for a second. She lets it happen, lets her hands travel Catra’s, and lets herself be tired this way. She can’t hear the humming that she hasn’t earned it, that it’s not her place to do it. But she chose to go back to Catra and chose to keep believing in her. She chooses Catra now, as well, as she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

First time Angella touched her hair, Adora flinched. She could see the confused look on Angella’s face, hand hanging in the air, but she didn’t look annoyed— she looked almost sad. Glimmer didn’t ask her about it, but the subject came eventually. They knew about Shadow Weaver, already, so she didn’t have to dwell on _that._ But, still, the thought left a bitter feeling on her mouth.

“Adora”, Shadow Weaver had said, once, “you should not engage in such foolish behaviors. It will distract you.”

She was near the Black Garnet Chamber, this time. They were just playing like they always did, but Shadow Weaver showed up and demanded Adora to walk with her. Catra had a weird expression on her face that day— almost as if she was afraid for Adora, which didn’t necessarily make sense.

“But we were just playing”, she protested, small steps behind Shadow Weaver’s floating figure.

Shadow Weaver stopped, abruptly. Adora was just thirteen, but she can see it, still, the memory burnt on her skull. She remembers the fear, the melting ice on her spine.

"You can't let things distract you, Adora. I have great plans for you."

She could hear her voice getting louder. "But this won't get in the way of us becoming better soldiers!"

There it was— the hand cupping her face, a strand of hair now behind her ears. A gesture she couldn’t quite comprehend why it felt so different, so _rotten_ when Shadow Weaver did it. "You have so much more potential than they do. They will only drag you down."

Adora thought about how much fun she actually had when she wasn't training— how much fun she had with Catra, who was _never_ on Shadow Weaver's good side. Somethings just didn't add up.

“But we’re a _team”,_ she said, suddenly so small, and she could swear for a second Shadow Weaver’s touch got tighter— but she let go. 

“I do not want to see such disrespectful behavior from you, Adora.”

She couldn't talk back now, could she? Not when she was paralyzed, frozen in place while Shadow Weaver walked away. So she swallowed it, lowered her head and went back to the barracks, buzzing in her ears. Still, her face burned dark where Shadow Weaver had touched her.

* * *

Sometimes, Adora would try and think about Catra in a different way. She closed her eyes and tried to think about how Catra felt, why she felt so betrayed about Adora leaving. She wondered if she should’ve insisted, if she should’ve gotten back for Catra, pleaded for her— maybe things would be different if Catra was on her side. But she soon learned that there was no other way for it to be. There was so much on the unsaid, she thought. So much she thought she knew, but she could see it now, how their growth had Shadow Weaver’s poison all over it, how her words lingered even when she was no longer there. 

And, when she falls on her knees and strips her heart open, she gets it one last time. What she wants, and she can’t have. Adora thought she could get away with it, with small parts of Catra at times, seeing from afar how she fitted in the mess her life had become. She thought she could trick destiny, that she could break a sword and save the world and get the girl. But the failsafe burning on her chest was a reminder that she couldn’t have it all— and she wouldn’t.

“I need you”, it’s what comes out of her mouth, and she hopes Catra gets it, that she understands that this is the best she can give, the only thing she can, after all. But, as Catra disappears along with Melog, she is left with a backpack that still smells like her and pieces of her heart on the ground.

She gets it now, after all.

* * *

Adora wonders if Catra had faced death. She wondered, for some nights, what it was like for her at Horde Prime’s ship. Sometimes, she would wake up from nightmares or just zone out in the middle of a conversation, a hand floating to her neck as she did it. But she wasn’t willing to talk about it, and Adora wasn’t in a rush. They would have time, she believed. She wonders if Catra had a dream, just like she has now. She wonders if Catra felt stuck in a void, Horde Prime’s presence around her as she gasped for air she didn’t even know it would be there for her.

She can feel it slipping from her as the realization that she failed hits her. The world is going to end, right here, the failsafe still burning on her chest and she can’t do it— she couldn’t win as She Ra, and she would never survive as Adora. She was too weak, after all.

Adora can’t feel her limbs weakening. She doesn’t know what’s she’s doing anymore, what’s she’s fighting, whether she’s dead or alive. Mara’s words echo on her head— there was no deserving love for her, not after losing it all. There was no—

“ _Adora, please_ ”, she hears, all of sudden, eyes widening. Catra, light behind her, hand reaching. 

She tries to lunge forward, tries to grab Catra’s hand as her reality collapses around her and Catra’s voice is the only thing she can access right now, the only thing that keeps her grounded. Maybe Horde Prime was cruel enough to let her have one last moment with Catra.

“It’s too late”, her voice breaks. “I failed.”

She can feel the burning tears on her eyes. Catra’s got her, it’s what she hears, it’s what she _thinks_ she hears. Catra, her best friend, the girl she loved most in the word, asks, one last time, for her to stay. “I _love_ you. I always have.” 

Maybe Horde Prime is twisted. Maybe this is a game. But this is Catra’s hand, the one she’s known for all her life, and she reaches for it, for one last moment, one last chance to see Catra, one last chance for her to be selfish and _choose_ Catra. And she does, opening her eyes only to see Catra, leaning to her, a firm hand on the back of her head as the Heart of Etheria crumbles in green around them. 

This is the girl she’d always love and that loves her back. She’s in the arms of the one that brought her back, and if this is her last moment, so be it, one last selfish moment. But Adora should’ve known better— that the grandiosity of what she feels for Catra is much, much more powerful than whatever is in the Heart of Etheria. That the pure feeling of tasting Catra’s lips after so many years of wondering would be far stronger than any magic Etheria could encounter. There’s burning on her chest and she knows it’s the failsafe, knows that her love for Catra created something new inside her, can _feel_ it in her veins. Still, she doesn’t let go.

  
  


“Could you _stop_ moving for like, a second?”, Catra asks, mildly annoyed, only, at a crying Adora. 

“I _can’t._ ” A hiccup. _“_ I think I’m going to _die_.” 

Catra glares at her, but she could see through it— she was worried too, hands shaking while she placed cotton on Adora’s nose. “You’re not going to die, dummy. It’s not even broken.”

“But I’m _bleeding._ Shadow Weaver’s gonna kill me.” 

That could be true. Even if they’re hiding in their place, even if the door only opens to their password, she _knows_ Shadow Weaver can creep in and find them here. Anxiety eats her from her insides— nobody _meant_ to hurt anyone, it was an accident, but Shadow Weaver was never too patient for those.

“Look at me.” Catra took Adora’s face in her hands, thumbs on her cheek so Adora would look directly at her— like she ever needed a reason for that. There was that _feeling_ at her chest again. “It’s not broken. And the bleeding will be over soon.”

 _You promise?_ she wants to ask, as childish as it sounds. They’re not children anymore— she has fifteen years of scars and training to remind her of that. She’s supposed to be strong now, to not display signs of physical weakness— but it’s Catra here, and it hurts, even though she knows Lonnie didn’t mean to. 

Her nose still burns when Catra removes the cotton, stained with red. She lets her fingers move up until just above her lips, and she’s not bleeding anymore. 

“You don’t even need to go to the infirmary.” 

She breathes out, slowly, the cold image of a place that’s supposed to help her heal, and, instead, locks her up. “I hate it there.”

“I know.”

She lets her hands fall on her lap and Catra still has pieces of cotton on her hands, brows furrowed. Catra is still looking at her and she feels her cheeks getting warm as Catra’s tail circles her wrist. Catra is still looking at her nose when she dares to blink and take in the way it seems like the air stopped moving around them— they’re the only ones here in the dim light of what was supposed to be a supply closet, but now it’s their secret hideout. Catra has bangs, and it wasn’t supposed to look good — Adora _tried_ it— but it does and she’s so—

It’s only for a second that her eyes fall to Catra’s chapped lips and the curve of her mouth and chin. It’s only for a second, she thinks, that she lets herself drink this moment, before looking up to Catra’s eyes. Catra, who matches her expression, pink freckled cheeks. 

She wants to scream. Instead, she giggles. “Are you blushing right now?”

“Shut _up_.” Catra shoves her.

“It’s cute that you got _so_ worried about me.”

“Take it _back._ You’re the one that went all crying on me.”

Catra is giggling too once she’s done _torturing_ Adora. Her chest might explode at any moment and reveal their location, so she tries to breathe, tries to relax. But she wishes she could explode, sometimes, with trembling lips. There’s no much she _can_ do, so she laughs, brushes it off, and tries to play it cool. “It almost seems that you _like_ me.”

If Catra notices the way Adora’s look sometimes linger on her lips for the rest of the day, she doesn’t mention it. 

* * *

Nowadays, Adora reads a lot.

There’s still so much to do, with rebuilding villages and kingdoms, interplanetary missions, and alliances being established— but they’re not in a hurry anymore. Now, mornings last longer than she’s used to. She can be a little selfish and lazy and only show up then the moons are already high in the sky. She can take the long way through the halls. It’s been three years since she first got here but now is when she gets to admire the panels and all the other details there was never time for.

Now, she holds translations for Mara’s journals in one hand, while the other rests on Catra’s scalp. The light flickers as she moves through the pages, careful as ever as to not wake up Catra— sleeping is still hard, sometimes. There are nights that she wakes up and checks Catra’s neck, because she’s so _sure_ Horde Prime got her again. Other nights, Catra wakes up screaming, memories of Prime’s ship too alive on her mind. They somehow manage it, with calming words and soft touches until dawn. If they drift to sleep once it’s not dark anymore, it doesn’t matter— they’re allowed to, now. 

There’s a lot Adora can do now, she thinks, fingers through Catra’s hair. Hidden in one of the journal’s pages, she kept a list of things to do after the war. She didn’t _mean_ to hide it, but she knew it was stupid, so it was for the best. She glances at the first item and then back at Catra.

Growing up, she learned to watch Catra from afar, to only let her eyes melt when no one was looking at her. She learned —or tried to, anyway— to be subtle about it, to only let herself really look at Catra when it was safe for her to do it. She kept these memories like a secret, stocked in little boxes at the back of her mind so no one could take it from her. Now, she lowers the journal on the nightstand and turns to look at Catra. They’ve been this close before—before the sword, before the war, before Prime— but Catra is different now, older, sharp lines as she traces Catra’s jawline with her fingertips. There are new scars and new freckles. And, even though she knows she can, her fingers still tremble and are hesitant to trace the patterns on Catra’s cheeks.

Adora exhales. She’s not doing anything wrong; she doesn’t need to try and listen to any sign of steps outside— Shadow Weaver it’s dead, even if this hasn’t settled yet. This is her room, and she’s in Bright Moon. She’s safe— they’re safe.

She lets her fingers go through Catra’s hair, up to where her bangs were starting to grow and down to her neck, until a scar stops her. She doesn’t touch it, exactly, but she feels Catra moving the slightest as she wakes up, slowly. Catra blinks at Adora, ears down as her chin pops on Adora’s chest. “Hey, Adora.”

Adora’s cheeks burn. “Hi,” she drawls, “didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was just _very_ comfortable.” She shifts. “What were you doing before you were staring me in my sleep?”

“I _wasn’t—_ ”, she snorts. “ _You_ ’re the one just hanging out in my arms.”

“Yeah.” Catra lifts herself up. “Got a problem?”

She squints her eyes. “Are you trying to be smooth with me?” 

For that, her face is shoved in the pillow as she laughs.

“You’re so _stupid_ ”, but Catra is laughing too, lowering herself to Adora’s side, an arm still around her. Adora turns, journal long forgotten, and looks at Catra.

“I was looking at you, actually.” One of her thumbs brushes Catra’s cheek. “You have new freckles.” 

It’s not like she’s keeping tabs or anything, but Catra starts to blush and she feels just a little bit victorious that she’s not the blushing mess here anymore. She expects Catra to retort, say something stupid and flirt, but she doesn’t. Instead, Catra takes her hand to a lock of Adora’s hair.

“I like it when you use your hair down.” 

They’re allowed, now, she reaffirms, to say things like this.

“I like your new hair too. And your freckles.”

“You have something for my face, don’t you?”, Catra says, shifting to get closer to Adora.

“Maybe I do.” 

She leans in, because now she can, and she’ll be able to do it for the rest of her life now. A dream blurs on the back of her eyelids as her lips meet Catra’s, and she smiles with it. There’s not a world collapsing around them here, but Adora’s chest burn where the failsafe once was— right over her heart. Kissing Catra, now, feels like coming home, the only home she had ever known. And, she knows Catra _knows_ and she hopes that she feels it every time they touch, but she does it anyway.

Leaning back for a moment, she looks down at Catra’s lips and then at her eyes again. Catra’s face is burning pink and she looks so soft here, sprawled on _her_ bed, on _her_ arms, that Adora wants to scream to the whole world that she loves Catra. She can, and she kind of _did it_ , already. But, still—

“I love you”, she says, Catra’s eyes focused on her as she does, “so, so much.” 

Catra smiles as she leans to kiss Adora, again. A list long forgotten rests on Adora’s nightstand, wrinkled in between pages.

_things to do after the war is over_

  1. _let catra know that i love her_



  
  


Adora still keeps a diary, even after everything. Perfuma says it’s amazing, because it’s therapeutic, but she just likes it to keep track of things. Now, as they take off from Etheria, Bright Moon becoming a small spot as Mara’s ship rises up in the sky, she takes away a list of places they should go and alliances they should make and pins it to the panel— it’s _useful_ since Bow and Glimmer can get pretty distracted. 

There’s another list, and she doesn’t _need_ to, but she looks over her shoulders to check if someone’s coming anyway. It isn’t, so she opens the diary on the exact page marked with a list written on pink paper— things she learned since she came to Bright Moon. When she thinks about it, really, there’s so much more she can add to it. She learned— or she’s still learning, but that’s okay— what really means to be a hero, now. Well, she’s struggling a little with it, but the message stays. Sometimes, she can get what she wants. She got to save the world— and got the girl.

When she thinks about all the books on etherian tales she’d read back in Bright Moon, she can almost see herself on those. Maybe new ones, with happy endings, not just tragic ones. She was _done_ with tragedy in her life. Now she knew _love_ , knew peace, and she wasn’t willing to let that go— ever again.

“What you got up there?” 

Adora makes another note: Catra is _still_ very slick when it comes to sneaking on her, even if she gets close to Adora and clings to her, arms around your waist.

“It’s nothing”, she moves her wrist, “just a list.”

“Why do you have a list with _aunt_ on it?” Catra frowns, placing her chin on Adora’s shoulder. 

“Could you _not_ —”

The list slips, revealing Adora’s writing. Catra widens her eyes. “Is that my _name?_ ”

She gets up, raising her diary so Catra can’t reach it— even if Catra still has an arm around her waist, she won’t _melt_ , instead, she holds it higher.

“Adora, if you’re out there writing me love letters, I gotta read it.”

“There aren’t any love letters, _but_ we can definitely talk about it since you want it _so much_ —”

“Oh!” She turns to see Bow, entering the main room with a tray on his hands. “So you finally showed her your letters? That’s so _good_ for you, guys.” 

Catra almost squeals. “You wrote _letters_ to me?” 

Adora doesn’t have time to shove Bow out of the door or throw her diary away, she’s too busy running from Catra, her laughter— along with some threats, maybe— filling the corridors as she looks for a place to hide. There isn’t, but she knew that. She turns, hands resting on her knees as she hears Glimmer mumbling something on another one of the rooms. Explanations about the letters die on her throat as Catra gets close, hands on her jaw and she’s leaning again.

This time, she lets herself get caught, finally. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me at  
> [tumblr](http://%20angelselectric.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/catriadora) ♡


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